All summer I’ve been watching people around me making money and I just… haven’t been. There’s this little magical thing that just has to be there for the money to come – people call it sales, closed ended questions, confidence, good make-up, etc, but really it just is what it is. And I’ve been lacking it.
Last night the bartender followed me into the bathroom and started complaining. Last year I was always top girl (in terms of lap dance marks on their little sheet), this year I’m not. She yelled, she begged, she bitched, and she cajoled. It was like she was my pimp. Or my stripper life coach. Whatever it was, it worked, and I banked. I’m gonna see if she’ll do it again tonight.
Here’s a story about something that happened while I was banking last night though. I was prowling the edges of the stage and I saw someone I recognized from a past life. I thought I must be mistaken, but upon our up close and personal meeting it turned out it was really him. We worked in the same world, back then, me as a child advocate and him as a community mental health supervisor. Since I dumped that life I had nothing to fear so I went and sat down with him.
I asked if he recognized me and he asked if I’d recieved mental health services at his agency a continent away. Of course he would assume that a stripper would need therapy before he’d assume that he’d worked with a stripper. Eventually he kind of recognized me and I went on to keep mingling.
Later I was back in the VIP room dancing for a great guy, and he happened to be sitting near us getting a dance from one of my favorite people in the whole world. Everything was going the way it goes (you know, naked women writhing around in laps and all) when my freind suddenly yelled “ow!” and pulled away from him.
“Woops, my teeth slipped.” He was grinning up at her with all the coolness he could muster.
My customer asked me if he should eject the guy. I told him to chill.
My friend smiled, and with all the patience of a pre-school teacher she explained “well I could just slip and break your glasses. You wouldn’t like that very much would you? I don’t like it when you bite me, either. Don’t bite me again or I might slip and break your glasses.”
She’s my hero.
Later I danced for the guy. He got the very cheapest dance available and pushed my boundaries the whole time (tho not so far that I slipped and broke his glasses). Afterwards he asked if there was any way he could see me, you know, outside of here, for a good time, wink, and there’d be a few bills in it for me of course, wink wink.
Normally I don’t really mind when guys ask this. Usually it’s just an honest question and I’ll give them an honest answer. Of course usually they aren’t mental health supervisors who’ve bit my friend, tried to grab my boobs, and engaged in general asshatery at every opportunity.
So I sat back on my heels and I put my professional voice on. “Are you trying to solicit me for prostitution?”
He squirmed. I mentioned his agency and their contract with the state. He begged me to keep this between us. I should have asked for a tip, but just watching him wiggle was satisfying enough.
Wow, of course he didn’t recognize you, he’s a sexist and you were not human in any industry.
I love that question…I used to put it in a more threatening way, “Sir, soliciting me for prostitution is illegal….”